See, the building that contains these subsidized rental units received federal funding for badly needed new windows last April. But the management company has been forced into a ridiculously long struggle over whether replacement windows are historically appropriate for the rowhouse, which was built in 1880.

Such fights are sadly familiar to building owners in the Center Square and Hudson Park neighborhoods, and other parts of the city within designated historic districts that give nine commission members power over building exteriors. Windows, in particular, are a frequent cause of contention.

It sounds like a joke: How many Albanians does it take to replace a window? Ten — one to change the window and nine to decide whether it's historically appropriate.

But the commission's decisions aren't funny when it's your wallet on the line.

In December, commission members ruled that management could not replace front windows at 355 Madison, which is just west of Empire State Plaza. Instead, workers would have to remove and rebuild the mix of six large and five smaller windows on the building's facade.

The estimated cost for doing so? $30,000!

That's three times what management had planned to spend, and it's nearly a fifth of the building's $160,000 assessed value.

"It's a very important situation," said Norman Rice, longtime chair of the commission, when I asked about the decision. "There are other nearly identical windows in the neighborhood — nearby, in fact. This would set a precedent."

Now, regular readers of this column know I'm all for historic preservation. It kills me to see terrific buildings razed, and I've argued for the preservation of St. Patrick's Church in Watervliet and the empty Tudor-style houses on Holland Avenue in Albany.

Historic districts are great when they offer protection to valuable buildings. But you can't freeze entire neighborhoods in the 19th century, and haggling over details like window frames is often silly — as a walk down Madison Avenue makes clear.

I mean, the building next to 355 Madison is fronted by a chain-link fence that's as historic as a bag of Doritos. And you don't have to search for other historically false items — plastic garbage cans, air-conditioning boxes, or even the cars that jam the streets.

A look at the area's windows, meanwhile, reveals a subtle neighborhood divide. See, some buildings had their original windows replaced long ago, so they're free to install energy-efficient vinyl windows.

But other building owners aren't so fortunate, and it's no coincidence that many of the neighborhood's original wood-framed windows are in disrepair, sometimes backed by plastic wrap that keeps out the cold but looks terrible.

How many owners would replace those windows if they didn't fear tangling with the Historic Resources Commission? At 355 Madison, CRM Management knew the commission would never allow original windows to be replaced by vinyl, so it got the federal government to agree to spend $9,790 for pricey wood-framed windows.

We're talking about taxpayer money here, because 355 Madison is part of the Robinson Square complex of lower-income apartments and commercial spaces that mostly occupy a row of buildings on nearby Hamilton Street. The units are privately owned and managed on behalf of the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development.

HUD dedicated $251,333 to replace all of Robinson Square's windows. Other buildings in the complex didn't have original windows, so replacements were quickly installed last summer.

Yet with 355 Madison, the historic commission drew a line: "No new windows!!"

Then, HUD rightly said it would not spend more to meet that requirement.

At a meeting in January, the historic commission discussed the implications of HUD's declaration. A full three months later — why rush? — members on Wednesday reversed course and decided to allow the removal of the original windows. But they didn't give full approval to replacements, saying they first wanted to investigate the available array of wood options.

Maybe, just maybe, residents of 355 Madison will have new windows by next winter.

Quick update: I've spilled a lot of ink arguing on behalf of the Ceccucci family, who asked the city of Troy to pay for damages to a car hit by a police cruiser. In fact, the family has made it into four Advocate columns.

Well, I'm happy to report that last Thursday, nearly a year after the accident, Samara Ceccucci exited City Hall holding a check for the damages to her family's Toyota Prius. Whew. I'm glad that's over.